“Mm. I should probably go to the hospital to check on Scarlett.”

I roll out of bed, and he walks me out. We kiss in the doorway for too long.

“Don’t ghost me again,” he says.

“I’m not a ghost,” I tell him as I leave. I add to myself, “I’m much scarier.”

I swallow my guilt. I don’t know if it’s for shutting him out last week or for allowing myself to get close to him again, knowing what I am, how easily it could all fall apart, and how badly it will hurt if it does.

The walk to the 7-Eleven parking lot is short but unpleasant. I’m too tired to use my legs.

I drive to the hospital, head up to the third floor. Matty sits in the waiting room, wearing a sling, looking exhausted.

I find the vending machines and get him some shitty coffee, pretty much my only olive-branch option in the vicinity. When I sit next to him, he flinches.

“Relax,” I tell him. “I brought you coffee.”

“Is it poisoned?”

“No. I’m not that resourceful.”

He takes a sip. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry about your shoulder,” I say. It’s a reluctant apology. It tastes like sulfur.

He sighs. He’s adopted Scarlett’s sigh. That’s hers.

“I hate this,” he says.

“Have you seen her? Is she doing okay?”

“Doctor said everything’s normal,” he says. “But mentally, I don’t know where she’s at. She won’t really talk to me.”

“I don’t have any answers for you,” I say. I take a sip of the coffee, but it’s so bad, I spit it back into the Styrofoam cup. “Clearly.”

“My mom said once the baby comes, it’ll all blow over,” he says. “But I don’t know, man. I’m worried.”

I can’t tell if I should be on his side or not. I find it hard to believe that Scarlett would kick him out of their shared home while carrying their child without good reason. But he looks like a fucking mess. It’s hard not to feel sorry for the guy.

The sling is a significant factor, especially since I’m the one who put him in it.

“You still love her?” I ask him.

He reacts with a look that I truly do not appreciate.

“Yes,” he says. His tone I care for even less. “Of course.”

“All right,” I say. “I can try talking to her.”

“I bought a ring,” he says.

“Does she know?”

“Yeah, she knows. I told her.”

He takes a nip of Jack Daniel’s out of his inner jacket pocket and offers it up to me. I open the lid of my coffee and he pours some inside.

I replace the lid. “I’m going in.”

“She should be released soon. Just waiting for the doctor to see her again.”

I go to pat him on the shoulder but figure I should probably avoid touching him for the foreseeable future. I keep my hands to myself.

Scarlett’s asleep in the room. Mom sits in a chair at her bedside.